


some nights the sea

by burnsidesjulia



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Begging, Campaign: Graduation (The Adventure Zone), Coming In Pants, Finger Sucking, Fitzroy is a bitch and i like him so much, Frottage, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Insecurity, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, plot is a relative term, set between episode 2 and 4 but not quite 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23740180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnsidesjulia/pseuds/burnsidesjulia
Summary: He's going to lose his mind.Whatever. Fitzroy wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway. Not with the way his firbolg friend is snoring below him. For that reason among many, many others.fitzroy is struggling to adjust to his new life at the annex. argo senses his discomfort, and is all too happy to help.
Relationships: Argo Keene/Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt
Comments: 9
Kudos: 190





	some nights the sea

**Author's Note:**

> title is inspired by ocean vuong's poetry book Night Sky with Exit Wounds. i highly recommend it

The bed is creaking.

All things considered, Fitzroy has done very, very well thus far. His family, his old friends, this entire annex and his own damn _body_ just keep kicking him while he’s down and he’s done an excellent job of holding it together. Fitzroy would be tempted to congratulate himself even; one magic surge over the course of two full days is better than he’s done in weeks. He’s done so well, and his downfall is going to be that he snaps and breaks the window beside him or lights the room on fire because the _bed is creaking._

He flips over, and every spring in the bed takes turns making an unpleasant noise. He’s going to lose his mind. The beds at Clyde Nite’s never creaked. His bed at home never did. Fitzroy is understanding that some people have lower standards than him, but this couldn’t possibly be too much to ask. Giving a student a creaky bed should be a crime. Can he put in a complaint about this? He should check in the morning. He crosses his legs at the knee. The bed whines. He’s going to lose his mind.

Whatever. Fitzroy wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway. Not with the way his firbolg friend is snoring below him. For that reason among many, many others.

Fitzroy rolls once more, his jaw clenching as the frame groans. He swallows down the anger. He can almost feel it as it slithers down his throat, cold and unforgiving. He takes a deep breath and waits for the moment to pass. He’s good at this, holding it in when he needs to. As long as he doesn’t lean into it, Fitzroy has about an eighty-five percent chance of not going rage mode. The tension passes. He opens up his eyes again.

The stars outside are nice. There were lights everywhere at the knight school, torches resting at every crenellation. Maybe it was safer, sure, but it drowned out a lot of those low hanging stars, washed out the sky. None of that at the Annex. Fitzroy can see stars he hasn’t seen for years, some clusters and constellations that he’s pretty sure he’s never even seen. He sighs, breath fogging the cold glass. It’s still too loud for him to fall asleep, but he’s so tired.

Fitzroy flips himself back over, and his soul almost leaves his body as he sees his roommate standing beside his bed.

Argo’s hands shoot out in a sort of comforting gesture as Fitzroy jumps, and he gets close to Fitzroy but doesn’t touch him. “Sorry!” he says, and even in a half-whisper, it sounds genuine. Even so, Fitzroy sits up and crosses his arms. “Do you _mind?_ ” he whispers back harshly. Argo keeps his hands up, but draws his arms back. “Sorry,” he says again. “I wasn’t trying to scare ya, if that helps.”

“Oh, yes, of course! Standing creepily beside my bed while I sleep and breathing down my neck isn’t scary at all, wouldn’t you say?”

Argo blinks at him a couple times. “You weren’t sleeping, though.” He glances down. “Can I sit?”

Fitzroy takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes again. Perhaps he’s being unfair. Fitzroy knows Argo is only trying to be friendly. He knows not everyone has the same admittedly high standards as he does. It’s not right of him to be rude just because his new roommates don’t understand him yet. The anger passes without too much effort on Fitzroy’s part, and he opens his eyes. “Yes, come on. You can sit.”

Argo smiles halfway, his left cheek dimpling as he pulls himself up into Fitzroy’s bed. It creaks again, louder than before. It’s loud enough that even the firbolg reacts, snorting and throwing a heavy arm over his ear. Argo settles eventually, crossing his legs and scooting close to the window, shoulder to the wall before he looks back at Fitzroy. Whatever he sees when he looks makes that smile go away again. Fitzroy shifts uncomfortably. “What?” he prompts, and Argo’s head tilts. “You’re clenching your jaw,” he points out, and his voice is even softer when he’s this close.

Fitzroy lets go of the tension immediately, eager to recover his outward composure. He wishes Argo wouldn’t be so perceptive. Fitzroy is good at not raging outwardly, and that’s usually enough. But inwardly? He’s always angry. If Argo can see that, he’s not going to wind up liking Fitzroy very much at all. He tries, quickly, to deflect. “Why aren’t _you_ asleep?” Argo’s head tilts the other way, but he answers, slowly. “I have trouble sleeping on a stationary bed.” Fitzroy can’t help it- he snorts at that. Argo’s brows furrow. “What’s funny about that?” he challenges, and Fitzroy gestures vaguely down at his own bed situation. “I seem to have the opposite problem.” He plants his hands to the mattress and tilts side to side, the whole bed rocking with him. “You see? My bed keeps creaking and rocking.”

Argo nods sympathetically. “Mhm. And?”

A pit of something cold and adjacent to panic opens in Fitzroy’s gut. “And _what?_ ” Argo makes an over the top gesture that Fitzroy can only take to mean go on. “Why else you couldn’t sleep,” Argo prompts. That panic grows quickly into anger, and Fitzroy feels his jaw clench again. Argo notices, he knows he does, but Fitzroy doesn’t really care. He’s being _nice_ , letting a stranger sit on his bed and be close to him and it amounts to what? This just isn't Argo’s business. Talking is one thing, but this is _prying._ His teeth squeak against each other with the tightness of his jaw. His fingers tingle almost painfully until he tucks them into hasty fists.

“Fitz, it’s alright to feel-” Argo starts, putting a hand out again. Fitzroy sees him start to move and moves faster, grabbing his wrist and squeezes it. Argo winces, and Fitzroy is aware that his grip might be tighter than it should be. “ _Sir,_ ” he corrects sharply. “It’s _Sir._ And it’s _Fitzroy._ ” He drops the wrist and draws back, only feeling a little remorse as Argo rubs the spots where his fingers had pressed in. “And actually, I’m tired now. Just absolutely _beat._ So goodnight, Argo.”

Argo’s ever present smirk drops at that. He shifts a good amount further from Fitzroy but doesn’t actually leave, looking out the window instead. “I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t see the stars.” He turns back to Fitzroy. “I got so darn used to sleeping on deck that now it, eh… just feels weird doin’ anything else.” He smiles again, still with just half of his mouth. “I thought if I just got a good picture in my head from the window, I could think about it while I fell asleep. But they’re different here.”

The anger fizzles down again, and Fitzroy didn’t even need to will it away this time. He glances down at the hand he grabbed Argo with, and tucks it behind his back. He almost feels guilty. Argo leans forward and places a hand on the bedspread between them. “I’m not tryin’ to bother you. Really. But we’re all misfits here, and I just don’t want you to feel like the only one who’s struggling, F- oh.” He scratches his neck where his ponytail is resting on it. “I mean, Sir Fitzroy.”

Fitzroy sighs. “You can, uh. You can call me Fitzroy.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll admit, I’m deffo being a bit of a bummer. I suppose it must be hard for everyone these first few nights.” He takes a pause, needing to gather himself before he can even consider opening up a little. “So do you actually want to know my, sort of, plight, or are you maybe just being friendly with me?”

Argo shrugs. It only reaches half of his body, just like his smile. “If you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”

Fitzroy considers the man on his bed. Argo hasn’t proven himself to be cruel. Fitzroy is pretty certain that even the name thing is just forgetfulness. He doesn’t have any reason to actually distrust him other than his own hangups. Quite honestly, it seems like Argo is seeing straight through him anyway. It might be nice to trust somebody in this godforsaken place.

He takes a deep breath like he usually does during all those angry moments. His eyes slip closed. He starts talking.

“I’m just tired, Argo, of everyone here treating me like I’m nothing. I don’t need to be reminded every few steps that I’m a failure. Believe me, it occupies near every free space in my mind at any given moment, and it’s impossible to ignore. I _know_ I am a failure, I know it very well, and I am _trying_ to do better.”

A pregnant silence. Fitzroy opens his eyes and finds Argo looking at him intensely. He shakes his head slightly. “But… but you’re _not_ a failure, Fitzroy.”

Fitzroy laughs, soft and breathy. Something is pulled tight in his chest, not anger for once. Argo’s voice is so genuine, so sure of himself. Fitzroy truly wishes he were that ignorant to his own shortcomings. It must be nice.

Argo scoots closer again, head still shaking. “Don’t laugh me off! You’re not. The Annex is prestigious, too, you know.”

“I didn’t apply here, I was _demoted_. Don’t you understand how humiliating that is?”

Argo pauses. “No. I don’t.” He looks down at the space between their knees. “But I know you’re not a failure.”

There’s that tightness again. Fitzroy swallows. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” Argo says. He reaches across the space between them and grabs Fitzroy by the chin. His half smile reveals a few sharp teeth. “You aren’t.”

Fitzroy isn’t surprised or bothered when Argo kisses him. He’s used to being seen as attractive, and Argo clearly sees something else in him, too. It’s certainly been a while since he’s done anything like this. At knight school, there wasn’t time outside of his training, and everything before that feels so far away now. They keep kissing long past anything that could be excused away as a mistake, and Argo’s grip on his chin holds fast. Fitzroy decides oh, to heck with it. He moves a little closer, laying a hand on the triangle of bare skin revealed by his half-unbuttoned night shirt. It’s strange, he thinks briefly, how Argo’s skin isn’t warm. His lips are flatter than Fitzroy’s, too. Wider. His tongue, thin and slightly forked, works its way into Fitzroy’s mouth.

Fitzroy pulls back when Argo nicks him with a sharp tooth, bringing his finger to his lip to feel for blood. Argo has that smile again, somehow smug now. Fitzroy still manages a glare, but there’s very little heat behind it. “Don’t feel special. I kiss lots of men.” Argo hums, putting his hands on Fitzroy’s shoulders and leaning him back against the masses of pillows. “I’m sure, I’m sure! Lots.”

“I _do_. I’m very attractive, if you hadn’t noticed.” His lip isn’t bleeding. He wouldn’t mind if it was. Argo still has that cocky look on his face so Fitzroy pulls him close enough that he can’t see it anymore.

Argo is slightly on top of him now, and for his size he’s pretty heavy. He’s pulled Fitzroy’s robe open a bit too, just enough for Argo to get his hands on his waist. His hands are colder than the rest of him even, and Fitzroy tenses up as he touches him, making a small noise in his throat. Argo draws back a little, worry coloring his expression. Fitzroy shakes his head and tries to tug him back, arms wrapped around the back of his neck. “Don’t you dare stop kissing me now.” Argo, surprisingly, is strong enough to hold himself up against Fitzroy’s pulling. “Not while you’re tense like that. I think you’re busy thinkin’ about other things.”

“Stop- _understanding_ me,” Fitzroy groans. Argo shakes his head. “You’re not a failure, Fitzroy. Are you listening?”

“Sure, I am. Now can we continue, or-”

“You’re not a failure. You’re important. You’re _skilled._ ”

A hot pang of arousal zips through Fitzroy’s body. He lets out a breathy noise, hips shifting up, and then realizes what he’s done and feels himself blush deep. Argo’s eyebrows shoot up. He doesn’t mention it, but he does give Fitzroy’s right hip another squeeze. “You are, Fitzroy. You’re a good person. One might even go so far as to say you’re...” He leans in again, lips brushing Fitzroy’s ear. “...a good boy.”

Fitzroy prides himself as a distinguished man. A man with some degree of _dignity._ He is, after all, a knight in absentia of the realm of Goodcastle. But Goodcastle be damned, their brave knight gasps at that phrase, his heart fluttering like a handkerchief in a strong breeze. He catches it as Argo stifles a laugh, even, absolute confirmation of how ridiculous Fitzroy sounds.

“I’d prefer you not _laugh_ at me,” Fitzroy breathes crossly. “It’s you, after all, that put me in this state.” Argo nods, pressing his lips to the soft skin of Fitzroy’s neck. “I know. That’s exactly why I’m laughin’, actually.”

“Well, if you plan to laugh at me, the least you could do is-” Fitzroy finds his complaint cut short as Argo pulls the tie holding his robe together, releasing it and watching the silky fabric pool around the shape of Fitzroy’s body. 

“Christ,” Argo mutters, and the sheer _reverence_ with which he says it has Fitzroy shuddering all over again. Argo drags a few cold fingers up his side. “You’re cut outta marble or something.” He puts both hands on Fitzroy’s body now, slightly webbed fingers splayed across his chest. “You’re a lot stronger than I’d’ve given you credit for. Built like a greek god, practically.” His left thumb catches on Fitzroy’s nipple, and when Fitzroy tenses at the contact, Argo goes out of his way to do it again. And again. And again. Fitzroy feels himself going red all the way up his ears. Argo must notice that, too, because one of his hands moves to flick the tip of an ear. “I always thought elf ear were a kinda sexy concept. They’re real sensitive, you know.” Argo leans forward and presses those sharp teeth into it for a second, and all of sudden Fitzroy can’t shut up.

“O-ohh, I- Argo, if you wouldn’t terribly mind, then-” Gods, Fitzroy hasn’t been this turned on in a very, very long time. “I’m- keep- the talking, Argo, what I’m trying to say is-” And now Fitzroy is rambling. He doesn’t ramble, and he certainly doesn’t _beg_. Gods, what’s become of him?

“Shh.” Argo presses a finger on his opposite hand to Fitzroy’s lips. “If you want me to talk that’s fine and dandy. But _you_ , have got a big, big mouth, pretty boy.” Argo pauses, almost as if he were anticipating the shiver that runs through Fitzroy at the praise. Argo grins with his whole mouth this time. The smile, all sharp teeth and dark eyes, is almost predatory. “You stay as quiet as you can, okay? And I’ll keep telling you how good you’re doing.” Saccharine practically drips from Argo’s lips. Fitzroy whimpers, but his mouth stays closed. Argo seems content with that, and puts his teeth back to the curve of Fitzroy’s neck.

Fitzroy is near convinced at this point that Argo is some sort of villainous mastermind. Between the whispered praise and the practiced brush of his fingertips along Fitzroy’s ribs, he seems very, very dangerous. Fitzroy, for his part, is glad to be on the same team as him. Argo’s hand wanders downward to the top of Fitzroy’s _(very expensive)_ undergarments, fiddling with the soft fabric of it. “Are these _satin?”_ Argo asks, possibly rhetorically, but Fitzroy can’t help but correct him. “Silk, actually- it’s quite a bit more expensive, I’ll have you know-”

Fitzroy cuts himself off with a gagging noise as Argo pokes two fingers in his mouth. Fitzroy just sits completely still, stunned. His cock twitches under all that silk, though, betraying his real feelings about this situation.

“C’mon,” Argo mutters. “Be a good boy for me. Suck. It’ll help you stay quiet.” Argo wriggles his fingers. Good gods, this is humiliating. Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt should not, and in fact _would_ not, sink to this level of debauchery. But regardless of shoulds and woulds, Fitzroy does as Argo told him to. It does feel nice to be doing something with his mouth. To be proving his worth in that way.

“Now there’s a good lad,” Argo practically purrs. “Putting your pretty mouth to work. That’s so good, Fitz.” If his mouth weren’t otherwise occupied, Fitzroy would verbally crucify him for that nickname.

“You mind if I leave these nice, _silk_ underpants on you, hm? Nod yes or no.” Fitzroy furrows his brow. He’d really like Argo to hurry up with getting him off, he’s been hard for longer than he would’ve liked already. Argo must sense the confusion because he moves then, situating himself with one leg between Fitzroy’s. “Don’t worry your pretty head. This alright?”

Fitzroy nods, mostly because the pressure of Argo’s thigh against his still-clothed cock makes him see stars. Gods, he wants to be good. Not for Argo, even, but for everyone. Wants everyone to see how good he can be. 

Argo shifts his thigh slightly, and then stops. Fitzroy groans around the fingers in his mouth, bucking his hips up. His head is pleasantly floaty now, nearing a point where he can just drift on the praise. Argo’s skin tastes like sea salt. Everything is so delicious and perfect except for the fact that his roommate isn’t letting him get off.

“Quiet, pretty boy,” Argo whispers. He takes his fingers out of Fitzroy’s mouth now, a shiny string of spit connecting the two fingers when he spreads them. Argo drives his thigh forward again and Fitzroy moans out loud now. The firbolg keeps snoring. Fitzroy is shaking, trembling with how bad he needs it.

“Oh poor, pretty Fitz,” Argo breathes. “He must want to cum now.”

“Fitzroy,” Fitzroy corrects breathlessly. “And I would, if you wouldn’t mind-” Fitzroy shifts his hips up, but just as fast Argo moves away.

“Ask _nicely.”_ Argo pushes back down, starting a slow grind of his thigh into Fitzroy’s groin. If Fitzroy was a little less pleasure-drunk, he might notice the sweat beading on Argo’s brow.

“Mmmph, I’m fairly sure I was being perfectly polite already,” Fitzroy bites out.

“Not polite enough,” Argo says. “Say _please.”_

“Absolutely n- ahh, huh, not. I’ve already asked you, I don’t need to say… that.”

“Then I suppose you don’t need this?” Argo grinds his thigh down harder, a little more steadily. Fitzroy revels in the feeling, but just as he starts to pick up his own counter rhythm, Argo moves away again.

“Gods- Argo, I want- I, uh, swear, I will never forgive you for this treatment. I need it, I need…”

“You need to say _please,_ ” Argo prompts again. “Just say, Argo, _please_ make me cum in my nice silk shorts.”

“I don’t want to… I…” Fitzroy keeps trailing off. Gods, he does want to. He wants this so badly, perhaps he even needs it. Being so pent up must in some way lend itself to the magic and rage outbursts. Fitzroy can’t help it, open-mouthed panting against Argo’s collarbone. His breath forms condensation on some of Argo’s more prominent scales. “Oh gods, Argo…”

“You can do it, pretty boy. Tell me what you need.” One of Argo’s hands rises and, dear fantasy Jesus, traces careful fingertips around his ears. It’s not quite as intense for half-elves but as worked up as he is, Fitzroy has to bite back a wail. “Oh dear gods, I’m- please, please, squeeze it a little harder?” Fitzroy’s voice could scarcely be described as a gasp, it’s so thin and breathy. Argo smiles and does as Fitzroy asks, folding the tip of his ear in on itself and pinching. Even as he does, his legs stay too far off for Fitzroy to rut against. He’s dizzy with his want, gasping for every breath. “But I- Argo I _said_ please already, let me, let me…” He trails off into a thready moan, eyes squeezed shut as he cants his hips up. Argo clicks his tongue. “I told you exactly what you need to say for me to finish gettin’ you off. I’m still waiting for that.”

Fitzroy moans again, all breath. Argo’s thumb and forefinger switch to his other ear, tugging at the lobe of it before running firmly up the shell. What did Argo want him to say? Gods, he phrased it so filthily. Fitzroy isn’t good at talking like that. He starts to talk again, saying something bordering on incoherent no doubt, but Argo’s fingernail digs into the shell of his ear, just a little harder than before. Fitzroy gasps, bucks his hips into the air. He can feel wetness beading at the head of his cock but can’t do anything about it. He’d take care of it himself if he had any confidence at all in his ability to untangle his fingers from his own bedsheets.

“I can’t, I’m gonna, oh _gods_ , fine! I- huh, mm, fine, Argo, please make me cum, please please, dear gods I need it-”

The words feel filthy as they pass his lips. It’s nothing compared to the sensation of Argo pressing back against him, letting Fitzroy find purchase on his wide, warm thigh. Fitzroy’s eyes are shut again, eyebrows worried together. Nothing matters but the opposite pulse of their hips, how when Fitzroy pulls back Argo pushes forward and it’s constant pressure, constant stimulation, so much and not enough in the same instant. Fitzroy grabs a fistfull of Argo’s sleep shirt and pulls hard, and maybe he hears a tearing sound but that’s a problem for later Fitzroy. It’s not enough and then all at once it’s too much, and Fitzroy tips over the brink of orgasm, no doubt ruining the expensive underwear he still has on. He doesn’t care, keeps rutting against Argo. Where his cold skin was foreign before it’s a breath of fresh air now, cool against Fitzroy’s sweaty temples. 

Fitzroy starts to pull back once he’s spent, but at Argo’s whispered praise of, “What a good boy you are, Sir Fitzroy,” he finds himself cumming again, another heavy wave of euphoria crashing over him before the storm is finally settled. 

Argo sits up quickly afterwards, moving back to his position by the window. Fitzroy is aware of Argo’s eyes on him, but neither of them really address it. Fitzroy lays boneless for a while, struggling to do so much as breathe.

When he does recover, Fitzroy shucks off the ruined silk. It wasn’t pure silk, so not quite the loss it was made out to be. Not that he’d ever tell Argo that. He pulls the blankets up over his lap and the two fall into another prolonged silence.

Fitzroy has never really cared for silence. It lends itself to overthinking.

“I suppose I should thank you?” Fitzroy says, only halfway questioning it. Argo glances at him and shrugs. “Eh, s’what friends are for.”

“I’m beginning to think you and I have very different definitions of _friends,_ Argo.” Another silence falls.

“I really did mean what I said,” Argo says eventually. Fitzroy laughs somewhat bitterly. “What, that I have a pretty mouth? Yes, I’ve been told.”

“That’s not what I’m talkin’ about and you know it.” Argo looks at him again. “You are a good person. And ‘yer certainly not a failure.”

“Well,” Fitzroy shrugs. “Failure is relevant, I suppose.”

“It ain’t relevant here. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Well technically, I did turn my ex-headmaster into a big floppy catfish, but sure, if you’d like to think so.” Fitzroy shifts uncomfortably. Praise is fine in the context of his body, his looks. At the moment, he isn’t too certain of anything else.

“Maybe you did but, you know. It’s not the end of the world.” Fitzroy grimaces. “Well. It sure feels like it is.”

Argo shakes his head. “I think time will prove me right, Fitz. I think you’re gonna do great things.”

“I happen to disagree with you on a pretty fundamental level there, Argo.” Fitzroy clenches and unclenches his fists as he speaks. The anger is back already. Maybe it was never gone. “I do appreciate the enthusiasm, though. I genuinely do.”

Argo doesn’t respond this time. He’s gazing out at the stars again. Fitzroy waits, and waits, and then clears his throat. “You know, I would like to sleep, eventually. Or meditate, at least?”

“Okay,” Argo answers. “I uh… I don’t mind if you do.” He doesn’t turn away from the window.

Fitzroy is confused, but he lays down. His fists stay clenched. The firbolg snores away on his right. Argo doesn’t leave.

The last thing Fitzroy sees before he drifts off is Argo Keene, illuminated by starlight. His scales glisten with it, green and shifting as the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> long time no see, ao3! i have been busy doing absolutely nothing. i have no excuses for my absence, or for this.
> 
> i have a few other fics that are almost done, so hopefully this is a return. taz graduation is goin wild! im very excited.
> 
> if you liked this fic, please leave a kudos, a comment, and/or a bookmark. that's the only way i know my writing is reaching people.
> 
> im on tumblr @burnsidesjulia, or @maplecourtz for mcelroy specific content. i hope youre all staying home, staying safe, and staying healthy.


End file.
